


Together

by AQA473



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/F, Red Lyrium, Tragedy, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-08
Updated: 2016-02-08
Packaged: 2018-05-18 22:56:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5946415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AQA473/pseuds/AQA473
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While reading Samson's short story, I had a thought: "What if two people were together in the Red Templars and one watched the other turn into a red lyrium monster?" This is that story. All original characters except for a single scene with Samson. Spoiler warning: he's ugly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Together

I don’t know if I can get out of this one. The elf strokes his chin, eyeing the field with care. I flex my fingers, glad to have the gloves off for once.

He reaches forward, stops, then retracts. We swap glances before he returns to the board. In a quick motion, he grabs his rook, swings it across the board, and places it a tile away from the edge.

“Checkmate.” He lets go of the piece.

My king’s boxed in, held by my own fleeing pawns, and his bishop staring me down. No way out.

I throw my hands in the air. “You win again.”

He smirks, but only for a moment, then his stoic visage returns. “Practice enough, clear your mind of external worries, and you’ll surpass even the most daunting of foes.”

“That’s cryptic.”

“I am a mage, aren’t I?”

Before I can comment on his apparent sense of humor, he’s gone, a flurry of robes and hair disappearing in the rows of books to my right.

I’ve been here a long time. This circle’s been good to me, for many years. Coming in, I thought it would be all about killing maleficarum and chasing phylacteries, but I’ve hardly left the tower in eight years. At first, I couldn’t wait to leave, following a platoon of sterling steel-clad knights, our flaming swords embedded proudly on our chests. Now, it pains me every time I walk out the front gates. The thought of leaving the sides of my mages hurts. I feel like I couldn’t trust another to do the job better. Well, maybe one other.

“Amie!”

I jump, nearly falling backwards in the chair.

Coming into view is Aiden, a human with dark skin, like caramel candies, and black hair that frames a kind face. I once told her that the sides of her bangs hang like curtains beside her cheeks.

“Den, don’t spook me like that. You know I’m top heavy.”

She giggles. It makes her armor clink.

“Busy, I see.” She surveys the board holding my most recent failure. “Lose to Enchanter Imogren again?”

I offer only a nod.

“Heh, he’s a tough one. You’ll beat him someday.”

“I’m more concerned about what he said.”

“Oh? Did he tell you your future? I don’t think mages have foresight, but I wouldn’t put it past the old man to be spouting prophecies.”

“No, nothing of that sort. More, he gave advice, saying that I could ‘surpass even the most daunting of foes,’ but only if I expel my internal demons, of which I have none.”

She looks me in the eye, so hard I want to look away, but I can’t. Those green orbs never cease to pacify me.

“No, I think you do.”

“Wait, hold on, you don’t really-”

A scream interrupts me. In seconds, my gloves and helmet are on, Den’s helmet seemingly missing, and we’re running down the hallway at a brisk jog. Apprentices and enchanters watch as we pass. We turn into the center room of the floor, where the cry originated, and find a fellow Templar holding a mage at knife-point.

“Don’t lie.”

“I’m not!” The girl’s crying so hard, her words are nearly inaudible.

“I oughtta cut your tongue out, but not until you tell me where you hid it!”

“I didn’t,” she stops, hiccupping as tears fall down her cheeks, dripping from her chin.

“Knight, stay your hand.” Aiden approaches the pair, hands at her side but no doubt prepared to draw her blade should anything go awry.

“This liar is hiding a text on blood magic and refuses to relinquish its location then submit to the Rite of Tranquility. Please, make her talk.”

“How about ‘no?’”

I let Den take control of the situation, stepping up to help the mage off the floor.

“Th-thank you, messere.”

“Please, we’re all friends here. Call me Amelia.”

“Ok, A-Amelia.”

“Now, hold on!”

“Stand down!” Den stands between us and him. I can see his hateful glare through the slits of his helmet.

“Sorry to ask this of you, but how in Andraste’s name did he get such a preposterous notion?”

I help her onto a chair nearby, far enough away to remove us from any direct interaction but close enough to hear the rest of the exchange.

“You’d let her get away, be a blood mage, here in our circle?”

“Ever think you might be jumping to conclusions?”

Den’s confidence always astounds me. My heart pounds in my chest. I’m not over there, but I can’t help but feel a bit of pride. I return my attention to the girl.

“What’s your name?” I ask.

“Crystal, ma’am. I only just passed my Harrowing.”

“Oh, of course, I heard about that but was busy elsewhere in the tower and was unable to attend the actual rite. I apologize for having never met you before. How could this Templar,” I say, jerking my head towards the pair in the middle of the room. “Possibly mistake anything you’re doing for blood magic?”

“I-I don’t know. Since my Harrowing, I’ve been studying. A lot. I want to be a better mage. My mother always told me I’d never be good at anything, that all I can do is kill, unable to tend a field or… raise a baby brother.”

Her eyes glaze over, lost in a memory. I tap my metal-clad fingers together in front of her face, jostling her.

“I… sorry. Just, remembering something foul.”

“I’m sure. Continue.”

“I want to prove I can overcome death, be better than my family thought of me. Make up for past mistakes.”

“We should all be so fortunate.”

“Yes, well, the best school of magic, I think, for my goal is entropy, I believe. Maybe?”

“That’s a wonderful idea,” I say. “Entropy is often misunderstood, but holds its roots in creation and rebirth, not the manipulation of evil forces.”

“That man over there,” she says, gesturing to the shouting Templar. “Saw me reading a tome, I’ve never read a tome before, about entropy, on the risks and benefits. Did you know, a rotting body can carry countless toxins and bacteria?”

“I try to keep my interaction with corpses to a minimum.”

It takes her a second the react to the sudden humor, bursting in a sharp snort.

“Of course!”

“I can only assume that our Templar friend over there hasn’t been here long, either, and simply is unaware of the school. Or, possibly, from another circle where things are done differently. It’s been nice speaking with you. Please, return to your studies. We’ll handle it from here.”

She hugs me tightly across the shoulders. I gasp but pat her gently on the back. A second later, she’s out of the hall.

“I’ll report you to the Knight-Commander! He’ll have you strung up like a cod!”

“Yeah, sure. Hey, Amie. Find anything out?” Den asks, turning her head to me. I can tell she’s exhausted by this man. I’m sure speaking to the mage instead of him would have calmed her considerably.

“Yes. Her name is Crystal, a recent graduate of the Harrowing. In a quest to better herself, she is studying the school of entropy.”

“Entropy? So it is blood magic!”

“Do shut up.” Den sighs. “Entropy is harnessing the energies of the dead and destroyed to create life. It serves commonly as a means to refertilize soil or keep a rose among a bed of dry leaves alive for months.”

The man doesn’t respond. Without any word, he turns his heel and walks out the door leading downstairs.

“Andraste’s flaming sword, that was hilarious!” Den shouts, slapping both her hands on her knees. “Oh, dear, that is too funny!”

I manage a smirk, but it’s gone by the time she looks at me. She smiles brightly. It’s not just a twist of the mouth, a curt gesture, but a genuine smile. It radiates from her whole face, like the sun reflecting off a basin of water. 

“Thanks for the assist.”

“Why are you thanking me? This is par for the course.”

Her smile doesn’t waver.

“Amie?”

I look at her. Her eyes soften.

“Yeah?”

“Do you ever stop, sometimes, and think ‘This is it; this is where I was meant to be?”

I nudge her will my shoulder, eliciting a chuckle.

Of course I have. I’m not one to hold onto something I care nothing for. What she doesn’t realize is I’m rather fond of the mages, but they aren’t the reason I’m here, the reason I enlisted. We joined together, seeking adventure and an escape from rural life. As much as the thought of chasing mages excited me at the time, I was quite content in our current lives. She doesn’t need to know that, not yet.

“Keep your eyes forward, Den.”

“Ever the diligent one.”

“I get it from you.”

Her laugh fills the chamber. We walk beside each other, back to the library.

\---

“Amelia, help-” Crystal’s call dies in her throat, her head flying right to my feet. Her mouth hangs open, blood leaking from it, dripping to her chin like her tears so many happy summers ago.

“I’ve waited a long time for that.” A man, wearing Templar armor brandishing a bloodied blade, turns to me. “And now, to dispatch you, traitor.”

He takes a step towards me. My weapons are missing and I can’t get my eyes off of Crystal’s rolling head. I feel my light breakfast stir in my stomach. I’ll die here, just like her.

He lunges, sword in his hand and a cry on his lips, then silences and falls on his face. Blood sprays out from his back, impaled by a large, wooden rod.

Blood spills out over the stone, coating everything in its path. A rug, imported from Antiva and crafted in the fifth age, turns red then black, mixing with bile and desiccated organs, from mage and Templar alike. My hands support me on a shattered wardrobe as I turn into it and hurl into its bowls. Coughs rack my body, attempting to pull up food that isn’t there.

“Amelia! Amelia!” Steel gauntlets seize my shoulders and yank me up, pulling my knees out of the blood.

It’s Aiden. Red specks cover her face and sunburst armor. A great gash has ruined the image of the flaming sword on her chest plate.

“We need to go or the mages will be killed.”

I don’t hesitate to follow. She leads me out the room, past the bodies of mages, young an old, past a Templar cutting down a child out the corner of my eye. Screams echo through the stony halls of the circle, tapestries aflame and furniture broken.

We reach a room with a dozen mages and a handful of Templars, all with varying degrees of injuries, none unscathed. They barricade the doorway behind us just as opposing Templars reach it, shouting at the tops of their lungs.

“How close are we?” Den asks a woman I recognize, a senior enchanter. Mages are removing bricks and mortar from a far wall.

“Soon. Just a few more minutes. We’re running out of strength. It’s up to you guys to protect us. Come help with this!”

The mages holding the barricade hesitate but eventually fall back to help the escapees. Den hands me a shield and sword. The sword is dark red, caked with dried blood. Was it from a mage or a Templar? Guess it doesn’t matter now.

“It’s going to be okay, Amie.” She smiles, haggard but as honest as it ever has been. “I have your back.”

“No,” I grunt. “I have yours.”

We wheel around to face the door. Five Templars stand, two archers and three knights, facing what is possibly our doom. We turned our backs on the order when they started cracking down on mages, and we forfeited our lives when we raised our blades against our brothers in defense of those they butchered. Had I known it would’ve come down to this…

The barricade buckles, pews and dressers mashed together by magicks. I can see our brothers—the enemy—through the gaps. Anger blazes in their eyes, like they’ve been wronged, seeking vengeance.

The wood crumbles and Den runs forward, her smile gone, replaced with a warrior’s cry. We aren’t fighting for vengeance. We’re fighting for survival.

A knight, his helmet missing showing off his grainy grey hair, swings at me with a flail. I meet it with a shield, following its movement, deflecting it harmlessly to the side. This is easy, manageable. I’ve done this a hundred times. Step, raise, turn, push, sidestep, duck, jab, all the motions flow from my mind and through my limbs like a hymn. Then he’s on the ground, meeting my gaze with nothing but blind hatred and rage, a reflection of what we all swore to defend this world against.

I flinch. I never killed someone in the ring, never held someone’s life at the edge of my blade. This isn’t a chess match anymore.

Checkmate means death. This one… he needs to go.

“Find salvation at the side of the maker.” I plunge my sword into his throat. Whatever he was to say in response gets lost in the gurgles and bubbles.

Before his eyes close, I turn around, just in time to catch an arrow with my shield. One of the archers with us, a girl with blonde hair, lays on the floor, a great dent in her forehead, eyes open.

This isn’t a game, this isn’t practice. We’re really going to die in here.

Down to four, against three, eight, thirteen… I see so many more beyond the archway.

“Almost done!” I hear the senior enchanter shout over the chorus of steel and meat.

Den cuts down another man, his lifeblood spewing out like a rainbow in the soggy morning, speckling her lips and hair. Rage is on her face, too. But it isn’t blind, without purpose. She fights to protect, a bulwark against the darkness.

We take a few more down by the time the mages signal the all-clear. The last two knights, Den and I, stand beside each other, shields pressed together, to hold back the enemy as we backpedal. My foot catches, slipping. It’s a severed hand, leaking on the floor. I slam onto the ground and am assaulted in seconds. Two knights tackle me, one jabbing my leg, the other aiming for my neck.

“Ah!” My head swings back, pain surging up my leg. Sparks fly when the other’s sword misses my neck, striking stone with the force of a ram.

“Amie!” Den shoves one off, taking his sword from my leg and planting it in his own chest, piercing his armor plate with a heave.

I grunt but recover quickly enough to kick away my other attacker.

“Run, Amie! Now!” Fear trickles into her words, a fear I’ve never heard before. Her eyes are moist.

“Ok.”

Arrows fly past, more knights charge us, but we’re already out the hole in the wall. Our band of twenty-odd trek down the grassy hill, some sliding and stumbling in their haste. Beside the moat, two boats rock peacefully on the bank. The Templar who brought the boats here lays in the mud, an arrow coming out of his neck.

“Everyone, in the boats!”

Then they go ablaze. At the other side of the moat, archers with flame-tipped arrows prepare for a second volley, this time likely aimed at us. A mage screams, dying behind us, as our pursuers catch up.

“No time,” I say to Den. I clutch at my leg.

“Let us handle this one.” The senior enchanter gives us an encouraging grin, but I don’t really feel like returning the gesture at the moment.

The last four of us Templars do our best to deflect arrows and push back the closest knights. Our archers try to pick off the enemy’s, one dying beside me in his attempt.

Our mages cast wards, barriers, as three at the front near the water’s edge spew long streams of ice from their hands. The water freezes, hardening in seconds. No one says a word, simply follows. I can’t utter a word, even if I tried.

My shield and Den’s along with the mages’ barriers defend us from the worst of the arrows and our ice bridge collapses behind us as the oncoming Templars’ heavy armor takes them down. My leg and our armor slows us down, separating us from the mages. A couple mid-cast are shot and fall into the waves.

“The same will happen to us if we don’t lighten up,” Den says, putting her shield down as the archers on the far bank replenish their arrows.

Aiden sheds off her gloves, chest plate, leg plates, boots, all cast into the water. I follow her example. The air’s much colder than I had expected, but we are in the wake of cold spells. The ice at our feet creaks and snaps.

“Amie!” Den yanks me back before I have time to grab my shield and it falls into the lake. At the pace our mages are setting, falling into the water would mean being left behind to die. “Can you still walk?”

“I think so…” I step on the creaky ice, then fall forward, nearly breaking it again. “No!” I grab my wound again.

“Dammit. Hold on.” She grabs both my arms and drags me, walking backwards towards our group, as the bridge dissolves at my feet.

As the mages’ strength runs dry and Den and I unable to help, our last archer dies. Mages begin to fall into the water, turning it red and sick. As the defenseless near the front fall, more of the defenders give up on their barrier spells and take over the bridge-building.

Seventeen, fourteen, twelve, nine.

By the time we reach the far shore, we number only five. Den and I are the last Templars, the senior enchanter pants clutching her knees having expended the last of her strength forming the end of the ice bridge, and the last two are tranquil. They stand around the enchanter, attempting to assist her in any way.

“We’re out of range of the archers,” I say. “But they’re working around. They’ll be here soon.”

“Hold still.” I look down. Den’s tearing off the leg of my undergarment, wet with water and blood. Then she takes off the portion of her midriff, still dry, and wraps is like a bandage around my wound. It’s not deep enough to reach any major arteries, but it will be hard to walk for a while.

“Thanks.”

She smiles back, a sad smile but one as true as any she’s ever given me. All this blood, pain, and death doesn’t stop my heart from rising just a little.

One of the tranquil collapses, an arrow in his spine. The enchanter screams.

“Maroyln!”

“We should leave, miss,” the last tranquil says.

Den leads us into the trees, holding one of my arms over her shoulder. After a minute, fire rains down.

“They mean to burn down the forest to kill us!” I yell.

“Obviously!” The enchanter shouts, glaring at me.

“Stop, just stop!” Den interjects. “This isn’t her fault and it isn’t fair to take it out on her. Now, they’re expecting us to run straight, so instead-”

“Go in the direction their coming from, circumventing their reinforcements.”

Den grins at me. Her face is so close I can feel her breathe, heavy from exertion. “Yeah.”

“Whatever. Let’s do your suicidal plan, then.”

The flames travel down the trees quickly, dry from the summer heat. Fire licks at our heads. The tranquil tugs at the weary mage after being told to do so. The fires are at our heels when we escape the brush. No Templars stand out here.

“By the Maker, it worked,” the mage says.

“There’s a road nearby,” I say. “I don’t know where we’ll go, but it’ll take us from here.”

Den squeezes my hand, still holding my arm over her. I look to her. She’s smiling. Dirt and blood is smeared over her face, but it does little to hide her beauty.

“I’m so proud of you.”

I finally smile back.

“Let’s get out of here, and you can be proud all you want, Den.”

\---

“How much longer do we intend to run?”

I bite into my last bit of bread. It’s stale. It was likely left out by those that made it, considering we took it from an abandoned home. This new war has ravaged the countryside. I chew and swallow before answering Glenmril, the senior mage.

“As long as it takes.”

“Takes to do what?”

“Live.”

We both look at Den. Her sword hangs from her hip. We’re wearing little more than the remnants of our cloth underthings meant to keep our old steel armor from chafing. Without the armor, and in this heat, our legs and arms take in the sun’s rays. What was once her midriff is still coiled about my leg, now stiff with dried blood.

“Halt.”

We stop in our tracks. Glenmril freezes, her hands clutching her sides. Dairn, the tranquil, turns around. His brand shines brightly under the hot gaze of the sun.

“A tranquil?” The same stranger says behind us.

“Who are you?” Another asks.

“Who are you?” Den shouts over her shoulder.

“Who’s asking who here, runt?”

“No,” a third man with a creakier voice says to them. “Let me see who you are,” to us.

Metal boots clomp in the dirt. The steps draw closer. I can hear his boots dragging pebbles as he walks. Is it a Templar? Maybe a local guard. Gray Wardens, even? No, they wouldn’t be so aggressive. And we aren’t dead, so…

It is a Templar. He’s tall, but very worn out, like he’s been through a meat grinder and lived to tell about it. Truth be told, I feel the same way.

“I am General Raleigh Samson. State your name and rank.” His hands fold behind his back. His red eyes make him look wild, but I find solace in his unwavering gaze. No judgment, no scrutiny, just duty.

“Knight-Captain Aiden Rel, sir,” Den says, planting her fist over her heart.

I follow the salute. “Knight Amelia Tomas.”

“Um, Senior Enchanter Cassidy Glenmril, I guess.”

“And I am Dairn.”

Samson nods, looking over each of us.

“All of you will join my new order.”

Den looks to me. I just shrug.

“And if we don’t want to?” Glenmril asks.

“Then you die.”

“We’re yours.” Den faces him, her face unflinching. I don’t hesitate.

“By your command, general,” I say.

“Guess it’s decided, then,” Glenmril mutters under her breath.

“On your knees.”

Den and I draw our blades and stab them into the dirt road, following them to the ground, our heads facing down.

Gravel digs into my kneecaps, an ant crawling up my thigh. The blade threatens to snap, worn down from rust and overuse. My auburn hair hangs in my eyes, my breath making the strands dance.

“Do you swear to remain loyal to your new master, to remain true to his plans no matter the hardship, to remain convicted to his new world?”

“I swear!” Aiden and I speak in unison, our words echoing back to each other. I keep my eyes on the dirt, but I know she’s glancing at me.

“Oh, yeah,” Glenmril chides behind us.

“Rise.”

We stand. The mage looks a little straighter.

“Welcome,” he says. “To the Red Templars, your new family.”

I want to say something, but a hand grips my own, filling it with warmth. Heat fills my cheeks as I squeeze it.

“We’re happy to serve.”

“We’re not serving, Amie.”

I look to her, to see her smiling face.

“We’re free.”

\---

I watch as recruits spar in the courtyard, their movements sloppy, footwork uneven. They’ll learn, they’ll have to.

“Mind if I sit here?”

“Really?” I turn up, seeing Den looking down at me holding two bowls.

She seats herself with a laugh, handing me a bowl. It’s a steamy smelly something, but isn’t bad. I think there’s some kind of vegetable in it.

We say nothing, eating in silence as our new brothers and sisters battle one another. My feet dangle off the stone wall, bare feet tapping together.

We haven’t received orders yet, just traveling around the Free Marches, picking up fallen Templars like us and others abandoned in the war between the mages and Templars. Today, we stay in old Tevinter ruins, but with enough walls to hide the bulk of our forces from view. It feels odd to be a part of a large unit again. It’s not the same, but it’s familiar.

Rough calluses stroke the smooth topside of my right foot, making my shiver. Of course, the only thing I need to feel comfortable anywhere is teasing my foot like she thinks she’s being funny.

“Oi, stop with the-” Lips press into mine. It’s soft, warm, safe. I think my bowl falls down, but I don’t hear it. My hands grip the stone as I close my eyes, meeting this intruder. Strong fingers tangle in my hair, smooth down my braid, and grip my shoulders. Then, it’s over. My first kiss.

Den stares back at me, beaming.

“I’m sorry. I’ve been waiting a long time to do that.”

“Heh. So, you beat me to it, then.” I stroke the back of my neck, looking away.

“Huh? Then, you mean…”

“Yeah.”

She grabs my face. Before I can say something, she kisses me again.

“Don’t stop,” I say as she pulls away.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

“About more than this?” I want to touch her lips again.

“Does it feel like we made a mistake?”

“Oh, you mean joining the Red Templars. I’d rather talk about us.”

She laughs. “Alright, my Divine. As you wish.”

I grab her waist and pull her closer. I think someone’s watching us.

“Getting cozy already, huh?” She pecks my nose.

“I feel like we’ve been doing this for years.”

“I know. How long has it been?”

“Didn’t you used to live in Larath?”

An arm winds up my back slowly, wrapping around my neck. I kiss the inside of her arm.

“Yeah! You came by with your family to sell your wool!”

“Ever since I first laid eyes on you, I wanted to give you some for free.”

She snorts. “That’s romantic.”

“Hey, I was a kid. I thought it was romantic, at the time…”

Wet lips meet mine, a laugh vibrating through them into me.

“That’s very sweet.”

“I’m glad we could be together, for so long.”

“Of course. Anything else would be unnatural.” She smiles. I kiss both corners of her mouth, a thumb smoothing her cheek.

“I’ve waited so long,” I breathe onto her chin.

“Waited for what?”

I look up at her.

“We’ve been together this whole time.”

I think her food’s gone cold. We’ll have to grab more. I barely hear it as it falls into the grass.

\---

“I thought we were done with lyrium, what with us being not-Templars.” I eye the red vial carefully. It’s familiar, but only because taking the blue had become habit. This didn’t glow the same way. It clung to the sides of the glass, hanging like honey from comb.

“It’s where the ‘red’ part comes from in ‘Red Templars.’” Our captain stands in front of us, holding open a case of at least a hundred vials of this new red lyrium. “It makes us strong, tough, clear-minded, and able to carry out the Elder One’s commands. Now,” he says, pushing it closer to me. “Take it.”

I look to my left, Den staring back. She holds out her opened vial.

“Together?”

“Always.”

We press our own vials to the others’ lips and drink.

It’s sweet, almost like sugar, but burns like Warden Ale. In seconds, my body feels it. It pulses down my veins, injecting my muscles with its ferocity.

I hear shattering as glass hits the floor, but all I see is red. And then I see Den, clenching her teeth like me as she looks back. She manages a smile through the same burning pain I feel.

Then it ends, my vision clear. I pant. My whole body feels hot, but not unclean. In fact, I feel tough, heavy with a sort of control.

“Good. I think it deserves reiterating here: welcome to the Red Templars, ladies.”

Den and I laugh, our hands clasped like a promise.

\---

We have a strategy, Den and I. I hold up the tower shield, she comes from the rear and skewers them with the pike longer than their mother’s chamber pot. Then she pulls it out, wipes the blood on the poor sod’s clothes, and moves onto the next. We’ve become so efficient that we are allowed to leave the bulk of the platoon. Officially, we’re scouts. Unofficially, we do whatever we want. While the bulk of our forces harass refugees and the opposing Orlesian forces, we search for stragglers.

A group of seven soldiers, Celene’s forces by the looks of them, walk past piles of rubble that were once buildings. With a shriek, I charge out of the shadows, startling them. Most of them are still collecting themselves, but an archer regains her senses faster and fires off an arrow which I handily deflect. My shield is a wall of steel and iron that I hold in front of me, casting aside all opposition.

Reaching the soldiers, I shove two footmen to the ground, stomping one’s neck with my boot, killing him instantly. They shout in Orlesian, the words sounding like their tongues are battling fish in their mouths.

I shove my shield into the ground and pull two knives from my waist. One soldier approaches me on each side of my shield and I tackle one to the ground, peppering his chest with dozens of stab wounds. Against the strength granted to me by my training and the lyrium, his armor is like a dead leaf. He stops squirming in a manner of seconds. Screams draw my head up.

Den runs through the ranks in the back. Their archers are no match for her surprise attack, her spear running them through. The third archer almost has time to turn on her, but instead gets her throat impaled by Den’s thrust.

I grunt, a sword biting the flesh of my back. It cuts deep, running through muscle a few inches between my ribs. Then it stops. I swings around, the sword sliding out with a schlick, and jump at my attacker. He brings up his small shield in time to block my double swing, but my knives chew through his shield, hacking his arm beneath it.

I hear a yell, likely the last person being killed by Den, before plunging my blades into the soldier’s forehead, cutting straight past his ridiculous mask.

And then it’s over. Wind brushes over the corpses, spinning lose cloth about in the air.

It’s so bloody. It touches my feet, coloring the stainless steel of my boots. My knives, just like the sword Den handed me at the circle. I just murdered people. People. My hands shake violently, my knives falling to the soaked earth.

“Divine.”

Den’s sitting beside a broken wall, a remnant of the village our battle took place beside. I leave the knives, grabbing an Orlesian sword from one of the sol- bodies. I place it in its scabbard and strap it onto my hip.

“We should return soon,” I say, walking up to her. I gesture at the sky, the sun drifting towards the mountains.

“We can be down here for a couple minutes.” Her voice is flat but her moist eyes plead with me. I can never deny this woman a thing.

I set my tower shield against the wall and take off my bracers, gauntlets, and helmet.

“Oh, do strip more.”

“Shove it.”

When she takes off her own helmet, I can see the red in her eyes, filling the gaps of her teeth. Crimson tendrils poke out from her skin, stretching over her cheeks and neck. I can still see her caramel skin between the protruding veins.

I sit, groaning, and she latches onto my arm immediately.

My own stature has grown since we joined, but the red has only reached my eyes and tinted my pale skin. They’re the first to show signs.

Den, on the other hand, hasn’t grown out, but her arms are bare to make room for the crystals extending from her muscles. I stroke one and she jumps, releasing me.

“That tickles!” She laughs, but I don’t laugh with her.

“It’s scaring me, Den. Actually, it fucking terrifies me. Blue never did anything like this.”

“Honey, Amie, it’ll be ok.”

“No, honey, it won’t. You’ll end up like them. It already feels like we are.” Den’s face keeps the images of blood and bone from resurfacing in my mind.

“Don’t talk about them like they’re animals. They’re our friends.”

“No, they’re monsters!” I lean forward, throwing my arms around. I feel heat rising up my face. “They don’t even speak! They just roar and scream like darkspawn!”

She strikes me across the cheek. It stings more than the gouge in my back.

“Amie, I’m sorry, didn’t mean-”

“Yes, you did.” I rise, picking up my gear, and fit my helmet back over my head. “You’ve made yourself perfectly clear.” My voice sounds metallic, ringing around the steel casing of the Templar helmet. I know the red is visible even from outside. How did it come to this?

I don’t return to camp. I spotted an alcove earlier today when we were clearing out a ridge, and now I sit here alone, on damp moss hidden from the dying sun.

My gear is in pieces around me, my legs sprawled out and my fingers clenching fistfuls of moist green. The contrast accentuates a red tint in my once pale flesh. I’m disgusting. As nasty and revolting as the destruction we left behind at the circle. As menacing as those the perpetrated it.

I’ve murdered without remorse, tearing through flesh and iron like grass, like I’m cutting down weeds. I’m taking lives, as if mine is so much more valuable, as if they deserve life less than I. I’m killing simply because I’m told. It feels like doing the right thing isn’t possible anymore.

I’m a monster.

“Hey, knucklehead.”

Peering through the crack, cutting off the light, is Den. I can’t see her face. She throws her helmet at my feet.

The ground squelches as she sits down. Despite being smaller, I think she’s heavier than me.

“You’re right.” Her fingers twitch. They do that when she wants to do something with it, like touch me. I kind of want her to. “This isn’t what I signed up for, either. I just wanted everything to go back to the way it used to be, when being a Templar actually meant protecting people instead of terrorizing. But we’re going down the same path, aren’t we?”

I get lost in her eyes every time she looks at me. The deep green is replaced by a sick pink, but I can still see her, still recognize the shallow waves in her irises. I kiss her. It’s short, but it settles my heart.

I touch one of the crystals sprouting from her bicep. It’s warm to the touch and jagged. Her shirts often get caught on the shards when she dresses in the morning.

“I don’t want to lose you,” I say, the words almost a whisper.

“Don’t think like that. We’ve always been together.” She grabs my hands, facing me fully. The water from the moss soaks into my pants.

“Let’s leave, right now! We’ll join the Inquisition, or- or help refugees, I don’t know, but just get out! While we’re still us!” Moisture fills the reservoirs beneath my eyes.

Her pupils twitch and I know she’s about to say something I won’t like. “You know we can’t do that.”

I can’t stop silent streams from flowing down my skin.

“They can track, just like we used to with mages. And the Elder One doesn’t accept desertion. We’re in this.”

“For life,” I finish. Her grip tightens on my hand before reaching up to wipe the tears from my face.

“But we’re together, so it’ll be ok. We’ll always have each other.” She smiles back, the one she saves just for me, the one that never ceases to make my heart beat like a drum.

Our lips meet again. We don’t reach camp until dark.

\---

“They’re coming from the east!”

They came at night. We’d been warned that the Emerald Graves were dangerous, to advance with caution, but Captain Trevalis wanted to hurry. He insisted that we get a leg up on the Inquisition, establish a stable foothold in the forest before the Inquisitor arrived, and the inevitable happened.

I duck as an axe swings over my head, catching a tent pole to my side. Ramming forward, I bring him down into the ground before grabbing his head by the sides and jamming my thumbs through his eye sockets. His scream dies quickly as the bladed tips of my gloves ease into his brain. I flick the blood off, grab my sword and shield, and rejoin Den on the field.

Aiden doesn’t use weapons anymore. The shards coating her arms allow her to generate pseudo-liquid red lyrium and fire high-density streams of raw lyrium at enemies to kill them, or fire them at another Templar to advance their stage of corruption until their skin bursts and their eyeballs are replaced with little red rocks. Aiden turns her hand to Jerath.

He’s an archer, bow in hand, but the bow is broken at the end and a fighter is about to hack his arm off. I charge in and knock the fighter away, shoving my blade into his chest, but Jerath’s arm is already on the grass, staining the carpet of green.

Red envelopes him and his body reacts immediately. His skin boils, blisters and pustules forming and bursting, soon replaced with long, red shards and mottled, greyed muscle. The emerging monstrosity is hardly recognizable. Jagged teeth protrude from beneath his helmet, denting it outwards. A few enemies recoil at the sight, but it leaves them open.

Jerath wails like a banshee then charges in, decapitating one man with a clawed hand and shattering another’s skull with a head butt.

For the first time since the circle, I can feel myself about to retch. An arm grabs me, twisting me about. Red beads stare at me, fixed inside a grey, crimson-lined face. Helmets won’t fit her anymore.

“Not here, my Divine.” Her voice sounds like she’s shouting down a tube, echoing across an underground lake. But it’s her voice.

I manage a ragged smile. “Ok.”

The battle persists, giants joining the fray as our fighting riled them from their slumbers a mile away. Templar behemoths are smashed beneath the giant’s thunderous bludgeons, sending lethal shards of lyrium flying in wide arcs killing enemy and ally alike. One woman’s throat falls open a foot beside me, her blood coming out in rivulets.

I get her to the ground, holding her head back. I fling my glove off and press my bare palm to her throat. She chokes and spits, the bile and gore oozing from her lips. I tilt her head to get it out of her mouth, keeping my hand on her throat. I have to accelerate the process. My lyrium shards have only just began to form on my shoulders and chest, but it should be enough. Hopefully.

Shutting my eyes, I concentrate. The battle silences, the rumbling of the giants’ feet now distant tremors. I feel the shards in my chest heat up, grow, then release lyrium into my veins. It runs down, filling my hands, and the energy radiates onto the woman’s throat.

Opening my eyes, I watch as her throat seals itself, blood flow cutting off. After a couple of seconds, I let go and she doubles over, coughing out with was left. I pat her back and hand her a sword.

“No rest for the wicked,” I say. She turns up with a scowl, but she knows her duty, our duty. I offer her a sympathetic smile.

Wiping off her mouth, she runs into the fight, now sporting new crystal growths around her collar and upper back.

This feels so wrong. It’s unnatural. I mean, obviously, but a bad unnatural, like they’re forces we shouldn’t be playing with. Guess it’s too late now.

Captain Trevalis swings his great sword about in a wide arc, cleaving a man in two and forcing the others to spread out. One sends an arrow at him, which he cuts in midair. A giant approaches from behind, picking a man’s arm out of its teeth.

“Trevalis!” I shout across the din of the battlefield. He makes no sign of noticing me, continuing his fight with the humans in front of him. I run towards him, dodging past scuffles, ducking as a woman’s head soars above me, the blood spattering my helmet. Helmet.

I remove my helmet, wind back, and hurl it as hard as I can. It flies through the air, whizzing past the giant’s ear and landing on Travalis’ head. It bounces harmlessly off his matted hair, but he spins around. His eyes catch mine and I point at the approaching enemy. But it’s too late.

He looks up just in time for the giant’s club to mash him into the ground. I half expect the stubborn man to pull himself out of the mud, but nothing happens. The giant just advances, decimating the soldiers Trevalis had been distracted by.

“Ashes you are and ashes you shall be,” I say, casting my hand in the air. It’s a dead rite in the Red Templars, our ranks now much more prone to blind outrages in response to our fallen, but I joined the order to uphold the Chant and fight for what’s right. He might have been an idiot, but he was our leader and he tried.

Despite all our strength and strong foothold, our forces dwindle. The combined fronts of the human rebels on one side and giants on the other push us into an outcropping of trees, smaller than those creates the overhead canopy and on the edge of our camp. At a quick glance, we number thirty. Thirty for all the Emerald Graves. There won’t be anyone to call for reinforcements if we die.

“Den, I need-”

She doesn’t react to me. New shards sprout from her neck and cheeks, almost her entire torso now covered in hard crystals. I shake her to no avail.

“Dammit! Archers,” I yell. A few look at me, others search around for their captain. “Listen to me: Captain Trevalis is dead. Aim at the giants’ eyes. If we can get them to fight the rebels, we can buy ourselves time.”

It only takes them moments to react to my commands. Another effect of the red.

“I need bulwarks at the front. Nothing makes it into these trees. Everyone else, cut out the foliage behind us. We’re getting out of here!”

Everyone follows the new orders, the wounded left on the ground as their accelerated healing takes effect.

I return my attention to Aiden. Her head bobs around, my hand on her shoulders keeping her from swinging about.

“Babe, sweetie, c’mon, I need you!” I snap my fingers in front of her… eyes. There aren’t any eyelids left to blink for her. “Den, please, come back to me.” Desperation seeps into my voice, and not just because of the battle. An arrow clipping my ear does little to spur me. Her face… she’s so dead. Her once dark skin now glows with the lyrium stirring beneath it. Pressing my thumb against her cheek, it’s just a thin membrane stretched over hard rock. Tears jump to my eyes, but very little comes out. We aren’t seventy percent water anymore.

Without any other options, I kiss her. She’s hot, burning, and her lips aren’t soft anymore. Sharp teeth keep her lips from moving normally, but it’s enough to call it a kiss. I slide a bloodied finger over what’s left of her beautiful black hair.

“baby, please, come back,” I repeat, staring into her stony red gaze.

“Captain,” a woman yells beside me. “They’re breaking through our defense. We aren’t done cutting out the brush and we’ve lost all our behemoths. What should we do?”

I look to her. The tears catch her off guard. It seems we still have some humans in our ranks.

“Captain?”

“I… need more time. Take the foliage you’ve cut out already and throw it outside the barrier on fire.”

“Yes, right away.”

My nostrils quickly fill with smoke. Den makes no reaction. I can’t be losing her this soon. She was just… someone must have supercharged her, likely when I was helping the dying girl. I can’t let her go like this. It’s too soon! We were going to die together!

Shouts fill the air as a giant falls dead on top of three of our soldiers, killing them on impact. If I can’t wake her, I might get my wish.

“Aiden, you asked me a long time ago if I ever,” I stop, choking down a sob. “You asked if I ever think to myself ‘This is it. This is…’” My hands shake, shuddering Den’s pale form in front of me like a porcelain doll. “’This is where I want to be.’ And this is it! This is where I want to be, forever! Not with mages or Templars, but with you! You’re my everything, my light at the end of the tunnel. I don’t care if we’re watching apprentices cast spells, eating slop, or… killing people. Just, let me be with you.” The cacophony surrounding us drowns out my words, until I can’t here myself anymore.

Aiden shifts, her hair falling in front of her eyes. A hand, entrusted with crystal, grabs my waist. It almost breaks my pelvis, but it send tears to my eyes.

“Aaaamiiiie.” It’s a low growl and I don’t see her mouth moves, but I hear it, loud and clear.

I swallow, wiping my face. “I’m here, sweetie. We need to go just a little further. Can you help me with that? Can you do that, for us?”

Without direction, without me picking her up out of a broken wardrobe, pulling her hair out of her vomit-covered face, she turns to the fight. An extended arm shoots out a concentrated beam of lyrium, striking the last giant directly in the head. It wobbles, stepping on rebels, before falling flat on its face. The number of bodies piled at the front make for a durable barrier, and the last enemy that could have broken through is dead.

“Okay, Aiden, you did it.” I shut my eyes, holding onto her. “Let’s get out of here; let’s go home.”

\---

It’s incessant, impossible to ignore. A constant buzzing fills my ears. It keeps me awake, makes my teeth shudder as I eat, my voice shaky when I speak. But I will endure this.

As a captain, I’m forced onto reduced lyrium so I can maintain a sane mind to lead. Who knows how long that rule will last? The number of humans in our ranks fall by the day. The Inquisition is winning and Corypheus grows ever desperate. But I’ve stopped taking the lyrium altogether. I refuse to succumb to this.

Pebbles of the stuff grew onto the backs of my hands, but it’s stopped there. Sitting on my cot, I grab the last crystal on my shoulder and heave. The pain is blinding, but a welcome distraction to the endless buzzing in my ears and burning in my chest. I toss the dying shard to the corner of my tent where it joins a pile. At the very least, I won’t get anymore. My mind is my own, mostly. Corypheus used the lyrium to whisper to us, control us in our dreams and our thoughts. It’s what made me blindly murder and destroy, only to be wracked by guilt afterward. His scratching reaches me no more.

I grab a bucket and fill it with the shards from my body. It’s heavy, my lack of lyrium drawing strength from my once powerful limbs. But I’m still the smartest here so the others won’t dare oppose my leadership.

The camp is quiet, no longer the chorus of jeers and metal clangs it once was. A few sit around fires, either new recruits or waiting for the corruption to intensify. A few can’t remove their armor anymore, like me. Red eyes follow me as I walk past, the crystal shards clinking in my stride.

There’s no more food, except for me and the newcomers. We don’t get many newcomers anymore. Our commander’s dead and it’s only a matter of time before the Inquisition hunts down the last of the Red Templars. We’re living on borrowed time. But, by the damned Maker, I will keep these men alive as long as I can.

Exiting the camp proper, I here the wildlife stir. Wolves howl in the distance, crickets chirp at my feet. A brook nearby join the buzzing in my ears, much smoother, gentle like… someone I used to know.

The uxillary camp is a different story. The ground quakes as behemoths walk by. No tents were erected here, the far-gone have no use for shelter. There’s just carts full of lyrium, lyrium shards protruding from the earth like glowing tumors, and dying Templars as far as the eye can see. This is the bulk of our remaining forces. Here in the outskirts of Emprise Du Lion, we wait for our final commands.

Shadows follow my heels, kicking at the bucket, but I manage to shoo them away. Horror’s stare after me, their arms perpetually at their sides. I can’t tell who was once male or female. For all I know, there are Qunari in here, not that anyone could tell. But I pity them. I pity them so much it hurts. Seeing them hits me harder than any blade, harder than the buzzing in my head and the burning in my growths. I’ve failed them. These are Templars, remnants of a sundered order of once proud, noble people. We fought to preserve justice and safety in Thedas. Now we’re just weapons to some crazy magister with delusions of godhood. He’ll be dead soon, and we’ll be lost to time.

On the far edge of the camp, if you can even call it that, stands a smaller behemoth. It has less armor than the others, having removed pieces when they still could be.

Upon my arrival, it swings around, its weighted arms pounding into the dirt.

“Hey, sweetheart.” I pull a shard from the bucket. “Open up.”

Aiden’s lipless jaw falls down and I lob a shard. She catches it, crunching and devouring it in seconds.

Wet drops fall onto a second piece. “Here,” I cough. “Eat up, Den.”

She snatches the next one, and the next one.

It doesn’t take long for the bucket to run out. I toss it aside.

Aiden’s easily ten feet tall now. She no longer has skin, all of it replaced with the glowing lyrium rock. When I saved her in the Emerald Graves, it was too late. Whoever empowered her shut off all chances of ever remaining human. She never got to say goodbye.

Even with Templar training, even with all we’ve been through, I can tell she’s in pain. Every Templar this far gone is. My growths just itch, but that’s because I’m a trained Templar and I stopped it before it went too far. But Aiden…

I step towards her, reaching up to touch her face. Her stony pebbles waver, like looking at jewels in a pond.

“Goodnight, Aiden.” I wipe at my face. “Know that I love you and I’ll always be here. I’m never leaving you. This is where I want to be.”

A low roar starts from the pit of her chest and echoes out the spout of her mouth, breathing hot, compressed air onto my face. Leaning down, she strokes her jagged chin against my auburn braid. I can’t stop the tears from falling.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a lot longer than I intended it to be. When I finished writing the first draft, I cried for two minutes straight. I've never written anything so depressing in all my life. I know the trolls here are called "giants" and they have "clubs" like the guys in "Skyrim," but I'll fix it later. I figure it doesn't hurt too much. You get the idea. Aside from that very obvious glaring flaw, do realize this is a fanfiction and I can edit it whenever I need to. Please do not hesitate to tell me about any discrepency, misspelling, awkward sentencing, or lack/excess of content. I will take all feed back into consideration and will likely even incorporate it shortly after reading it. I mainly wrote this because I realized I hadn't posted a story since September. Oops.


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